Citroen 2CV
by Miss Femm
Summary: Before one of the most iconic car chases in animation history, what led Princess Clarisse into attempting to escape the clutches of Count Cagliostro?


For most girls, their wedding is a day to be cherished. For Clarisse, it feels akin to an impending execution. So when her fiancée the Count's entourage of henchmen drove her to her dress fitting in her own Citroen 2CV, Clarisse felt numb.

The princess stood on a stool as women took her measurements. They asked her if she preferred pure white or eggshell for her gown, but the groom-to-be had already specified his taste: pure white and traditional, none of those modish short wedding dresses favored by so many brides these days. It felt like the measuring, sewing, and re-sewing went on for hours until the head seamstress led Clarisse to a mirror at last. In her long white veil and dress, she looked every inch the fairy tale princess, but Clarisse knew this union would have no happily ever after. At least, not for her.

She remembered the bile rising in her throat when she was informed of the Count's proposal; it was not that the Count was already well into his forties and a known womanizer who would certainly not be faithful. He was a monster. He cared for nothing, possessed no sense of justice or mercy. The thought of sleeping next to such a man every night, to have those blood-stained paws touching her… Clarisse felt queasy just thinking about it.

But what could she do? Clarisse felt powerless and was told in no uncertain terms that the country would be better off since the Count had been regent for the last decade anyway. She was convinced she could not rule alone, that she was too weak, too young to make an effective ruler. Perhaps she could influence the Count as his wife, make him see the error of his ways. Or at least, that was what she told herself top justify her own passivity.

"Is it to your liking, my lady?" asked the seamstress, her eyes shining with the hope of approval.

"Oh, yes," said Clarisse absent-mindedly, trying her best to look pleased as a bride should be. "It's very beautiful. Thank you."

The creases on the seamstress's face deepened as she smiled at the compliment. Half-hearted it may have been, it was still from the lips of a member of royalty.

The smile was short-lived. One of the Count's henchmen made a dissenting noise in the back of his throat.

"I think the regent should like something with longer sleeves."

Clarisse's jaw tightened, though she tried her best to disguise it. The seamstress seemed dumbstruck.

"Longer sleeves?" repeated the seamstress. "But sir, isn't it the middle of summer? I should think—."

"I imagine it does not matter what anyone but the regent thinks," he replied tersely.

"I suppose he's right," said Clarisse, gathering her train. The seamstress looked upon her with sympathy, but kept the sentiment to herself.

"Would you like me to help you undress, my lady?"

"No thank you," said Clarisse. Quickly retreating into the dressing room, she locked the door behind her.

Clarisse leaned against the door and blinked back tears. Silencing her sobs proved to be a challenge as her repressed misery reached a boiling point.

She felt silly crying at this point. Ever since her parents had passed away, she knew it was no use pursuing her own happiness. Everything had to be for the people, for Cagliostro, for the common good.

But God, it was unfair! What did it matter if she married the Count or not? After all, she was only given the illusion of choice. Should she call off the engagement now, the Count would likely arrange some kind of accident to maim or murder her. Should she go through with the marriage, what good would that do? He would continue on ruling the country, ignoring her suggestions, relegating her to the position of a wholesome façade for his shadowy activities.

Wiping her eyes with a gloved hand, her line of sight made its way to the sheer curtained window. Through the opaque fabric she could make out the picturesque world outside. Cagliostro was a beautiful country with its rolling hills and meadows blanketed with wildflowers. Struggling to reach the back zipper of her dress, Clarisse used her free hand to slightly push aside the curtain. Seeing no one about to peep on her, she pushed it back a little farther and all of a sudden, a strange sensation came over the young princess.

The clear sky seemed limitless. The air was cool and clean, mellowing out the heat of the summer sun and drying her tears against her cheeks. Clarisse could feel it combing through her auburn bob and it put the craziest thoughts into her mind.

 _Escape_.

Her eyes lowered to the Citroen outside the window. The chauffer, now absent from his position, had left the keys in the ignition. And why shouldn't he feel comfortable leaving them there? The Count possessed dozens of cars and no one in their right mind expected pitiful, passive Princess Clarisse to make any attempt at running away. Not even Clarisse herself.

Until now.

Clarisse's heart froze for a moment. She examined the latches on the window.

They were undone.

She felt herself tremble. She could hear her rapid pulse ringing in her ears. Images of the Cagliostro border flashed past her mind's eye. No destination emerged. No thought of what she would do afterward came to the fore. Just the thought of being as far away from the Count as possible. The consequences could emerge later.

Without hesitation, Clarisse re-zipped the back of her dress.


End file.
